Little Darling
by im-an-idjit
Summary: Things aren't that much different now that they're dating. There's just a lot more sex. (continued from 'Fake It Till You Make It')
1. Guess Who's Coming To Dinner

_summary__: _They hear yelling from Michael's penthouse, and it's all downhill from there.

* * *

It wasn't that Dean didn't like Castiel's brothers. Sure, they were endlessly annoying on most days and smug assholes at best, but overall, things generally went smoothly whenever they crossed paths. What Dean didn't like was being confronted by all three of them at once.

He tried to hide his uneasiness, he really did, for Cas' sake, because God knows how much crap that man put up with for him. But right now- when they were standing side by side in an elevator that had three of its four walls covered in mirrors and consequently made Dean feel even more sick to his stomach than he already did- pretending everything was A-okay was just not happening. And the damn Muzak wasn't helping either.

"Dean." How Cas could express so much calm in just one syllable was anybody's guess. "Relax, there's no reason to worry."

Except that every single threat that Michael had ever made about Cas being off-limits, that Dean had always taken as a joke was currently running through his mind, and it wasn't so funny anymore. But other than that, Cas was right. No reason to worry whatsoever.

Ha freaking ha.

"What's the matter?"

The blonde exhaled sharply. "It's just that-" His lips thinned. "Growin' up, we were always just friends, you know, and now we're... _not_."

"And how does that affect your having dinner with my family?"

"Just... you know."

Despite the major lack of eloquence, Castiel seemed to understand what Dean was getting at. "Dean, my brothers always knew our friendship worked differently compared to other people's. I've never made friends easily, and the fact that I'd taken so much interest in you undoubtedly hinted at something... special." His eyebrows quirked amusedly as the elevator pinged and its doors opened up. "Their attitude towards you won't change in any way just because we are dating now."

His words worked, but any sort of comfort Dean had gotten flew out of the window when the muted yells came into earshot. Dean had hoped the swears were coming from another apartment, until he realised that Michael's penthouse was the only residence on the damn floor. What truly terrified him, though, was the silence that fell over the entire apartment the minute the elevator door closed behind them. He was grateful when he felt Cas' fingers slip in between his own.

There was a shout of, _"__Holy shit, was that the elevator, Mikey?!"_ and Dean barely had the time to register the voice as Gabriel's when a blond head poked out into he hallway.

"Looks like the lovebirds finally made it," Lucifer drawled, crossing his arms. The rest of him came into full view and he pressed on, "Oh, _and_ they're holding hands."

Great. They were there for all of one millisecond, and Dean was already feeling twitchy.

Whatever retort Dean wanted to make was swallowed down, and instead he occupied himself with undoing the laces of his boots (rule number one in Michael Novak's house: shoes off before you do _anything_ else).

"Hello, Lucifer. How are you?" Castiel returned as he toed out of his soft sneakers.

Lucifer caught his brother's head in the crook of his arm. Ruffling Castiel's hair despite his muffled sigh, the blond answered simply, "Starving." With an alarmingly bright grin, he looked over to Dean and jerked his chin deeper into the apartment. Dean followed warily as Lucifer tugged Cas along.

Michael's penthouse was _gigantic._ Its furniture was in sleek and modern shapes, varying between glossy metal, polished glass, and colour-coordinated shades of peacock blue, charcoal grey and chalky white. Two potted ferns and one particularly tall ficus tree stood in the corner, while an arrangement of magazines and one Wall Street Journal sat neatly stacked on a coffee table. Walls of windows stretching from the ceiling to the floor circled the entire living room, giving a near three-sixty view of Lawrence twinkling softly in the purple evening. There was nothing actually separating the living room from the dining room except for a single-step platform, raised about half a foot from the rest of the floor. On each end of the living room stood a lonesome archway, one leading to the bedrooms and the other leading to the kitchen, the source of all the noise.

Cas' buddy from work, Balthazar, lounged on one of the blue sofas, smirking behind his wine glass when the three entered. While Lucifer settled beside him with his feet propped onto his lap, the Brit remarked, "So, I hear California turned out _very_ interesting." He received a wry smile and a scowl from Castiel and Dean respectively, but paid no attention. "Come off it. When were you going to tell us?" he asked, setting his glass aside.

"_Never_ sounded pretty good to me," Dean muttered under his breath at the same time Castiel said, "Where are Michael and Gabriel?"

"Kitchen, Cassie!" Gabriel's chipper voice answered, and Cas' hand was in Dean's again, pulling him in the direction of the call. "C'mere, let me see if you got a tan!"

"Yeah? Don't hold your breath," Dean told him when they entered.

Gabriel barreled past him and caught Castiel in a crushing hug. Cas flailed a little, but managed to get one arm around his brother's lower back.

"It's good to see you, Gabriel."

"You know what, Cas, I think you might've gotten paler," Gabriel stated as he looked over his little brother. His pout easily slipped into a grin when he turned to Dean. "But, look at you, lover boy, all freckly and bronze. You even got a teensy bit of highlights!" The timer on the oven went off, and Gabriel quickly creaked the small glass door open. Peeking in and muttering, "Still needs another five minutes," he threw a glance over his shoulder. "Mikey, get a look at the guy who sticks his tongue down your baby brother's throat."

The awkward level blasted off well beyond the scale.

Michael, who Dean didn't even notice rummaging through the fridge, suddenly got up from his haunches and shut the door with a little more force than necessary. The fact that he held iceberg lettuce in his hands didn't make him any less intimidating.

The silence was tense, and it didn't disperse even when Gabriel cried a delighted, "Oh, good! You found it!" and took the green, leafy plant from his elder brother.

Michael couldn't seem to settle on what he wanted to say. Dean's brain took the moment to helpfully note that the fridge was large enough to fit a grown man inside.

"Winchester." Dean visibly jolted and got his head to focus on Michael. The Novak opened his mouth slowly, and Dean had an idea that he was picking his words carefully, if only for Castiel's sake. "How was the weather?"

Behind them, Gabriel unceremoniously burst into cackles, and did little to stifle them.

"Uh." Okay, weather. Safe topic, no chance of blurting out something inappropriate. Good choice, Michael. "Ah, good, yeah. No rain, so Jess was thrilled," Dean said while Cas stepped closer to his brother.

"And the wedding?" Michael asked, simultaneously accepting the hug from Castiel with one arm and flicking Gabriel in the back of the head with the other.

Dean nodded, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Great. It went great. Gabe, we gonna eat or what?"

Gabriel, who had been cursing Michael under his breath, replied, "Yep, all done. Get Lu and Balth to help with the table, okay?"

If there was one good thing coming out of this whole fiasco, it was that Dean was definitely not gonna go home hungry. Every single meal had a fancy french name, and as a result Dean- having taken Spanish in high school- couldn't follow what was what when Gabriel ran them through the different plates of food. The only thing he was sure he got right was the Greek salad. As for the rest, he'd have to guess. From that he could tell, the soup was leek and potato, and the finely sliced, roasted meat fenced in by golden potatoes was chicken.

"What's Sam planning to do next, now that the wedding's over?" Michael asked once the soup bowls had been cleared to the side.

Dean, accepting the salad bowl from Cas, replied, "He's found a local firm that's willing to try him out and see how it goes, then maybe make him an associate. Says he starts once he and Jess get back from the honeymoon."

Michael nodded. "And you? When does Henricksen want you back?"

"By the start of next month."

As the conversation turned to Gabriel and a story about one of his new coworkers, Dean helped himself to some potatoes, but stopped short when he felt a soft prod at his sock-clad foot. It stopped for a split second, then returned higher up by his ankle. A glance to the side established that it wasn't Cas- he was currently listening to his brother, but it couldn't have been him anyway, since he sat on Dean's left and the tap had come from the right. When the poke came again, Dean jerked his chin up, eyes honing in on the one person who just _had_ to be across him.

Lucifer, the bastard, was openly leering at Balthazar- who was sitting beside Dean- pretending like he wasn't trying to play the world's awkwardest game of footsie with the Winchester. But Dean bit the proverbial bullet and turned back to his chicken. He did his best to remind himself this was all for _Cas_, to put in some goddamn effort in order to not fuck up.

Dean forced himself to listen to what Michael was talking about (which was his upcoming trip to Washington) so he could ignore Lucifer's persistent tapping.

"I still need to have Hester mail me the inventory-"

Two pokes, but Dean stayed stone-faced.

"-Raphael is planning to fly out early, however-"

A sharper jab.

"-don't think it's necessary, but Zachariah _insists_-"

Dean didn't hear the rest, his blood having frozen over when he felt the blond _brush his foot against his calf_. He jumped back sharply, inadvertently scooting his chair back a few inches.

"Are you okay, Dean?" Cas asked softly, looking genuinely worried.

"M'fine, just bit myself," Dean grit out. In the corner of his eye, he noticed Michael squint in his direction, though he didn't stop talking. Dean gave Cas what he hoped was a reassuring smile, even though he could feel it didn't reach his eyes, before subtly moving his chair back in again.

The second time Lucifer's foot came around, Dean was sure to kick him right in the shin, _hard_.

"Ow! Balth, what the hell?!" the Novak exclaimed.

All talk promptly stopped when everyone turned to Lucifer's boyfriend. Balthazar's fork stopped midair. "Pardon me?" He blinked.

"That was _me_," Dean hissed at Lucifer.

The other mouthed a mute, "_Oh," _then added to Balthazar, "So _that's_ why you weren't responding."

Cas sighed, and pulled up the puppy eyes. "Lucifer, whatever you're doing, please stop."

Lucifer chuckled. "No, believe me, as _hilarious_ as this situation is, it was unintentional. Promise," he said to Dean.

"So, Dean," Gabriel started again once things settled down. "How was the ride?"

Dean's brow furrowed, and he clarified, "Uh, the plane ride?"

"Sure, if that's what you want to call it. How'd it go? Was Cas, you know, _on top of things?_"

Jesus Christ.

"And Cas, how was Dean? He scream a lot?"

"Gabriel, that's enough," Michael ordered.

"What about take-off, Cassie? You guys manage to get it up all right?" Lucifer asked, then leaned in over his plate. "_Was the cockpit satisfying?_" There was a loud thud coming from underneath the table, followed closely by the Novak groaning, "God damn it, Dean, I was _kidding_."

"That one was me, Lucifer," Castiel corrected monotonously, and Dean wanted to kiss him then and there. Cas shot him a small side-glance, smiling gently. His hand found the other's under the table- Dean could feel it when Cas' thumb rubbed against his knuckle.

Dinner took a much calmer route after that, and soon enough, Dean was sitting on the sofa with a plate of steaming apple pie, Cas having had kicked him out of the kitchen to keep him from helping with the dishes. Michael was seated next to him, watching the ridiculously-sized plasma screen TV switch through a myriad of channels as he searched for a worthwhile program. They didn't talk, the resulting quiet was plenty uncomfortable, and the longer it carried on, the more likely it was that Dean would blab about something stupid out of sheer pressure.

_Animal Planet_ flickered to life, and Michael seemed temped for a moment, until he realised it was a documentary on woodworms and thought better of it. Next was _National Geographic_, but whatever show that had been airing had already reached the ending credits.

Dean's head snapped up in surprise when Michael decided to speak. "You know, when Cas said you were taking him out to Sam's wedding, I didn't realise he meant you were taking him as his date." His tone was all casual, like he wasn't struggling with the urge to throttle something (probably Dean).

Dean stayed silent, because what the hell was he supposed to say to that?

Michael pressed on while _Fox Crime_ came and went. "It's serious, then? There's no way this is going to turn into some horrible practical joke Gabriel's orchestrated?"

To his own astonishment, Dean chuckled. "Nope."

_MLB Network_ was up next, and the other's finger wavered on the remote. It was a re-run of last night's game- Yankees versus Mets.

"Do I need to warn you?" Michael asked seriously, his eyes never leaving the pitcher on TV.

"Anything in mind that you haven't been telling me since high school?" Dean countered.

"No."

"Then we're good."

"Good," Michael returned.

Dean scowled as the screen declared the hit as strike one. "What was Turley _doing?_"

"Completely ridiculous, he was off throughout the whole game," Michael agreed with a grimace.

Dean nodded, then stopped short. He blinked one, twice, and looked over at the Novak. Michael met his glance with a similar look of confused wonder.

"You know, Dean," Michael finally declared, "there might be something worthwhile about you after all."

He could have been imagining things, but Dean thought he saw a small hint of a smile.

* * *

Castiel watched the soapsuds glide down the sides of the sink as he loaded the last of Michael's glazed, porcelain plates into the dishwasher. After he wiped down his hands against a cloth, he leaned back against the counter. From the living room, the high-pitched ping of a metal bat hitting a baseball could be heard, immediately met with cheers of a televised crowd and two real-life whoops of triumph.

Gabriel snickered beside him as the dishwasher hummed to life. "Idiots. Fifteen years, and they never realised they're both giant, nerdy fanboys."

"I don't think they realise how similar they actually are," Castiel concurred.

Another hit, this time accompanied by groans and a particularly bewildered, _"__Are you serious?!"_

Gabriel tossed his own rag over his shoulder. "You're lucky your love muffin's not a Red Sox buff, otherwise we'd be in _real_ trouble."

* * *

**A/N:** Let me start off by saying, I know nothing about baseball. Everything mentioned is from the Internet, so please don't hurt me if it's all wrong!

Okay, now that that's over, some general stuff: This is gonna be a series of oneshots based after the events of 'Fake it Till You Make It'. It would be helpful to read that first, but I think you can manage if you don't. Also, there's no real schedule for writing here, this is just my way of coping with impending exams (finals start in May D:), so updates will vary!

For those who wonder, the title 'Little Darling' is a reference to The Beatles's 'Here Comes The Sun'!


	2. Orthography

_summary:_

**or·thog·ra·phy, **pronounced /ôrˈTHägrəfē/

_noun_

1. A method of representing a language or the sounds of language by written symbols

2. Spelling

* * *

"_We didn't find anything in his phone records."_

A frustrated growl made it past Dean's grit teeth. "Seriously? Nothing?" he demanded.

"_Nothin' but a few calls to his sponsors, and about a dozen to his publisher,"_ Benny answered patiently- and by the way, kudos to him, because even Dean wouldn't be this tolerant if the situation was reversed. _"__Dean, I think you should consider-"_

"No, damn it. I told you, there's no way," the other cut in.

His partner sighed on the other end, _"__All right. Just... Think about it. It could be a possibility."_

Dean wasn't planning to, but he nodded anyway. "Fine, whatever. Thanks, Benny." The line went dead, and the cell phone was carelessly dropped on the coffee table, clanging nosily. Dean didn't expect any useful calls coming in any time soon. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes as a headache brewed in the back of his brain.

"You sound agitated. Is something wrong?"

Dean spun towards the source of the voice: Cas sat on the couch, with his back against the arm rest, his legs stretched in front of him, and surrounded by two stacks of papers- one in his lap and the other on his thighs. His reading glasses were perched on top of his head while he curiously watched Dean, absentmindedly twiddling a red pen.

The blond grimaced, before raising Cas' legs a little, then settling on the couch. "It's this case I'm workin' on, it's drivin' me nuts," Dean explained. He reached out for the file on the coffee table and started thumbing through the papers inside. "I _know_ the guy was murdered, but everyone's insisting it's suicide."

"Well, there's a big difference between the two," Castiel noted. His glasses were back on as he returned to grading one of the essays he had assigned last week. Under any other circumstances, Dean would be carrying him off to the bedroom, because _damn_, he looked good with glasses. "Why do you think it's murder?"

To be honest, right now, he was just thinking _sex-with-Cas-wearing-his-glasses_. Dean blinked back, gaping slightly. "Wha- Oh, 'cause suicide just doesn't make any sense!" he said, then pulled out a picture and tossed it to Cas.

The other didn't react. "Am I about to look at a body?" he asked.

"No, just the crime scene."

The picture stayed where it was, facing downwards on Cas' shin, while he finished reading the essay and wrote a neat _B_ in the corner, circling it and adding a small note in his elegant, slanting handwriting. Watching his pen curve around each letter was seriously therapeutic, nothing at all like seeing Dean struggle with his chicken scratch. When he set the paper down on the pile on his thighs, Castiel picked up the picture and examined it closely. "Dean, is this half-eaten veal?" he asked, his brow furrowed the way Dean thought was adorable.

"That's the vic's dinner, which he was eating before he supposedly killed himself," the other explained. "Now, why would he do that?"

"Is it that inconceivable he wanted to have one last meal before he took his life away?" Castiel responded.

"No, look- D'you see the state of his food?" Dean asked.

Cas' mouth formed a small 'o'. "It isn't finished," he guessed.

"Exactly. Who eats half of his dinner and then shoots himself?"

"Maybe he was full."

"You're missing the point, babe!"

Castiel cupped the side of Dean's head and fixed him with a pitying look. "Dean, I think you're reading into this too much."

"No, I'm not-" Dean slapped his hand away. "Listen, there's more. This dude was left-handed, okay? When we found him, the gun was in his right," he said, then added irritably, "Don't look at me like that! If you were gonna shoot yourself, would you do it with the hand you don't normally use?"

"I'm not going to answer that, Dean," Castiel sighed. "Were there any other prints on the gun, other than his own?"

"No, but it could'a been wiped down before it was put back."

"You can't prove that happened."

"And you can't prove that it didn't," Dean insisted. "He left a note, Cas!"

There was a second of silence as Castiel looked at him blankly. "You do realise that usually implies suicide, Dean?" he clarified.

"No- I _know_, but it was freakin' weird. The guy was a published poet, right? He's supposed to be good with words."

"Yes, I've read some of his poems," Castiel said.

Dean licked his lips, before pulling out a ripped sheet of paper from a transparent file. "This was what he left- _'I am bone.'_ What the hell does that even mean?"

"Admittedly, not his best work," Cas offered, craning to get a look at the note. "Maybe it was meant to be a metaphor. Death, perhaps?"

"If you were a famous, critically-acclaimed writer, wouldn't you want to go out with a little more flair than, _'I am bone'_?"

"Again, not answering that." Castiel said, "Dean, you have to realise that a man considering suicide is not emotionally stable. He would not think reasonably, let alone worry about the way the media would interpret his death. Although you don't understand it, the note might have had some meaning to him." When Dean made no attempt to answer, Cas went back to grading his papers.

Dean, on the other hand, still not convinced, determinedly went through the rest of the evidence and files in his folder. There had to be something that they missed- a surface they had forgotten to dust for prints, a sign of a struggle, indications of a break-in. He wasn't going to let this slide. There was no way a murderer was going to walk free under his watch.

It was as he was going over the doorman's (unhelpful) statement that Cas heaved this small, exhausted sigh.

"What's up, Cas?" Dean asked, scanning every single word on the paper.

"Jeremy," Castiel said with a hint of a frown.

The other shot him a lopsided grin. "Should I be worried right now?"

Cas shook his head, smiling. "One of my student insists that 'definitely' is spelt 'defiantly'. It's tiring, especially when it is repeated several times throughout his essay." Dean chuckled in response, while Cas murmured to himself, "The content is satisfying, but I don't know whether grammar should also influence the grade. So many spelling mistakes."

"Cut the kid some slack, Cas. We all make typos now and..." Dean trailed off, realisation striking him like a thunder bolt. _How was he so damn stupid?!_ "Holy shit!" he blurted. "It's a spelling error, Cas!"

"Yes, I know, I think I'll have to speak with Jeremy after class-"

"No!" Dean waved the suicide note in the other's face. "This! It's not 'bone', it's 'done'!"

Castiel's eyebrow quirked up. "How does a professional poet mistake a B for a D?"

"Not the poet." Dean grinned. "His wife."

"His _wife_?" Castiel repeated, but Dean was already skimming through files again.

"I saw it somewhere before, I _know_ I did- Here!" He produced another piece of paper, handwritten in fancy, loopy script. "Mrs Meyers' statement about her alibi. Every single one of her D's were B's. I thought she was drunk or something."

"Dean, let me see it," Cas instructed. Dean did as he was told, then began fidgeting with a loose thread as he watched Castiel's eyes inspect the statement with the speed you could only get from years of correcting theses. When he finally looked up, Dean took in the surprise etched in his wide eyes. "Dean, this woman is dyslexic."

"How do you know?" Dean asked, craning his neck in order to see.

"She constantly writes her D's as B's, like you said. I found only two instances of using the letter correctly," Cas explained. "And some of her E's came out as C's. See, right here?" He pointed to the word _'home'_, which, when Dean looked closer, appeared to actually be _'homc'_.

"But why would she write the suicide note if she couldn't spell properly? Kind of a big give-away, isn't it? We'd know it's a fake," Dean said.

Castiel answered, shaking his head, "She seems to have a lighter condition. She might not even know she's dyslexic. You don't have to be born with dyslexia in order to have it. Sometimes, it's a result from a head injury or a stroke."

"Babe, you're a freakin' _genius_." Dean caught the back of Cas' head and pressed a firm kiss to his temple. "I gotta go, I have to get Benny," he said, standing up and heading for the coat hanger.

"Do you have motive, though?" Castiel asked.

"Pretty sure there was somethin' in the will about her inheriting everything, and the doorman told me she might be having an affair." Dean said as he shrugged on his jacket. "It's not much, but it'll be enough to convince Henricksen." He jogged back to the couch, leaned over to kiss Cas again through his grin. "I'll be back later tonight, okay? Feel free to order in or make something out of the shit in my fridge." Dean left to find his boots, but not before calling over his shoulder, "And give Jeremy an _A+_!"


	3. Shower Struggles

_summary: _"Jesus Christ, Cas, you tryin'a get the Ice Age back on?!"

* * *

When Dean rolled onto his back and threw out his arm, morning sunlight burning red behind his eyelids, the bed was empty and the pillow cold. He cracked one bleary eye open to check the nightstand clock. _7:30._

"Ngah, _fuck_," he grit out, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. He'd have to get down to the station soon, and as evidence already suggested, Cas had gotten up a while ago anyway. Wednesday meant morning classes for Cas and Dean wanted to at least see him off before parting for the entire day.

Last night's boxers, crumpled by the foot of the bed, were ignored in favour of padding around Cas' apartment naked. The sound of running water hit Dean before he reached the bathroom down the hall. The low, rumbly humming, however, he only heard once the door had been opened.

Cas had one of those shower stalls that was roughly the size of Dean's entire bathroom, and could easily fit four people in it. The shower head was great, with six different spray patterns (Dean's favourite being 'massage') and adjustable height. The frosted glass hid Cas from view, but his silhouette was distinct as his entire body curved when he rinsed his hair. Dean stood a little longer than necessary, watched his hands slide over shoulders, throat and chest. Dean's eyes stray down below his stomach, drinking each part of Cas in methodically: thighs, calves, ankles, heels.

The plan was to slink in unnoticed behind Cas, all sexy and surprising, but it fell through when Dean jumped back like he'd been burned, hissing at the jet of water.

Castiel spun around, cerulean eyes wide and unblinking, and returned, "Hello, Dean."

"Jesus Christ, Cas, you tryin'a get the Ice Age back on?!" the other spluttered.

Cas looked perplexed by the question as he stepped back under the spray, seemingly unfazed by the temperature, which was more suitable for ice cubes rather than a man. "I don't have a particular interest in the glacial period, why?"

"Baby, the water's _freezing_," Dean said, already reaching over the Novak's shoulder to turn the red-rimmed shower faucet. The spray was set to 'massage', but at the moment, all Dean could feel were icy needles stinging his arm a thousand times over.

"Cold showers are good for your blood circulation," Cas explained and swatted Dean's hand away. "It gets rid of your fatigue and boosts your energy levels."

"I'm sore all over from chasing that nutcase around Downtown." Let it be noted that under _no_ circumstances did Dean Winchester start whining at that point. "Hot water gets the tension off."

"This is healthier for you." Cas was a hard bastard to sway when he had his mind set on something. "The immune system benefits from it, as well as your skin and hair."

"Cas, come _on_. You know I don't care about that shit."

"Hot water can lower your sperm count," Cas pointed out as-a-matter-of-factly.

"Good thing I'm not planning on knocking you up anytime soon," Dean muttered, but the information was a little daunting nonetheless.

Castiel rolled his eyes, but turned the temperature up, if only for a fraction. It was enough for Dean to be able to step under the shower head again without any of his internal organs freezing up. He pressed up against Cas, body a cold, lithe line against his own. A faint flush spread over Cas' neck and shoulders, where the icy droplets pelted down the most. Dean sucked at his nape and left warm kisses between his shoulder blades, watching the skin redden from the attention.

"What are you doing, Dean?" Cas asked over his shoulder, a small smile forming on his lips.

"Warmin' you up," Dean said as he nudged Cas' jaw with his nose to give him more room. Castiel happily provided. "You're a freakin' popsicle."

A soft purr vibrated through Castiel's throat when Dean started mouthing lax caresses just under his jaw. He threw his head back, curving his neck and leaning into the blond's chest, bodies pushed flush together. _"Dean," _the Winchester's name was a pleased hum on Cas' lips. His hand glided up to cup the side of Dean's head, to knead fingers into his short blond hair.

In response, Dean nipped harder, licked more obscenely, kissed more urgently. One of his arms went to curl around Castiel's stomach, pressed tight into the taut muscle, while the other trailed lower, fingers ghosting over the jutting hip and gripping his thigh possessively. Castiel's body was shaken by a quivery gasp, pleading and indignant and aroused all at once. Dean kissed him through his grin, very attentive to the quiet pants and stifled whimpers.

"You warm yet, baby?" he teased.

Cas' answer was a slow roll of his hips right into Dean's crotch, sparking red-hot, wonderful friction. Dean didn't even try to suppress his moan, just pulled Cas in closer against him, arousal pooling low in his belly. Suddenly, the water didn't feel so cold anymore.

After that, it was just a matter of stretching to shut the water off completely and snatch the small, inconspicuous bottle of lube from the shampoo rack in the corner. Dean would make a joke about the shower turning counterproductive, but it flew over his head when Cas' body tensed and a sweet, faint cry broke from his lips. Dean continued working one finger in and out slowly, letting Cas get used to the sensation. The other rocked back, grinding against his hand as if to demand for more.

"Slow down, baby," Dean murmured against the shell of his ear. "We got time. Slow down," he repeated before easing another digit in.

As the fingers switched between crossing and scissoring, Cas tilted his head back, nosing into the crook of Dean's neck, his nails scraping bluntly against the hand that rested on his stomach. His breath was hot on the blond's skin as he panted heavily. "Dean, please, I- I want- _you_."

Dean hushed him with wordless, soothing hums. "Just a little more, Cas," he said, then opted to distract him by tracing one of the fingers on his free hand down his happy trail, eliciting shivers to dance across pale skin. He lowered his head to nuzzle the spot behind Cas' ear, promising in an innocent, nonchalant tone, "I'll fuck you till you can't walk straight, that sound good, baby?"

"That would be- _aah- _preferable," Cas replied wryly, though the mewl that followed the addition of Dean's third finger kind of ruined the effect. He was good for all of sixty seconds, until Dean's index finger found his prostate and induced a sharp inhale. "_Now_, Dean. Stop the teasing, or I'll walk out," he threatened, attempting to turn in Dean's arms.

Resisting the urge to chuckle at the half-hearted warning, Dean slipped his fingers out, unable to ignore his own raging hard-on any longer. He located the tube again and squirted more lube out, smearing it over himself. He was barely finished when Cas- having already made it clear he was done waiting- looped his arms around the other's shoulders and pulled his body right up against his own, faces lined up perfectly.

It was hard for Dean to believe that was the first actual kiss of the morning, considering what they've been doing so far. The force with which Cas pressed their mouths together had Dean swaying slightly, an arm coiling around the other's waist to keep them upright. Cas sucked at his lower lip earnestly, his groans soft, breathy against Dean's cheek. He nipped and nibbled with just enough pressure to strain the skin, but not break it entirely, lapping at it until Dean's whole mouth was spit-slick and abused looking.

"_Fuck_, Cas," Dean breathed into the confined space between their lips. "Get against the wall." He didn't wait for Castiel to respond. Instead, he pushed his body forward, forced Cas' back to slap against tile. "Spread your legs, baby," he ordered gently.

"Mm, I thought you'd never ask," came the amused reply, but there was no denying the excitement behind Cas' lust-blown pupils. He did as he was told- let Dean settle right between his parted knees, releasing a throaty groan when the blond's fingers grasped the back of his thighs and hefted him upwards. His legs automatically wrapped around his waist, his head pressed into Dean's temple as he revelled in the relieving friction.

"Come on, baby, lemme help you down," Dean murmured encouragingly, fingers holding on firmly to Castiel's hips, easing him downwards until the blond was fully sheathed in the tight warmth. A hand ran up and down Cas' side in soothing motions as Dean rasped, "Shit, _fuck_, yes!"

"Dean, please, need you to-"Cas babbled, his request punctuated with steady, grinding drags.

He didn't need to be told twice. Dean's hips snapped sharply, making Cas slide up the wall. His thrusts were hard and relentless, eager to find the spot that made Castiel arch into his chest.

Cas' mouth was back against Dean's skin, caressing his cheeks and chin with gentle kisses. "More, Dean- Want more."

Dean loved him like this, when he was needy and demanding and insatiable, taking whatever Dean gave him, then urged for more. Because Cas, ridiculously, infuriatingly stubborn Cas, never asked, never pouted for anything- just gave. It was a nice change, because God knows Cas, with all his endless _good_, deserved to be selfish sometimes, and Dean was only too happy to supply.

Dean pushed deeper, prolonged the drag, determined to ignore the burn in his legs. He refused to stop until Cas' legs gave away and his body was entirely sated. He could only use one hand at a time, as he needed to support Cas' weight, and even then it wasn't much use. His fingers cupped his cheek, thumb running along the plump, lower lip. In response, a sliver of tongue passed down the length of his digit, drawing out an approving hum.

"Wanna take you back to bed and screw you senseless, Cas," he thrummed. "Stay in there for ages, just let you ride me all day long. Would you like that?"

Cas' nod was lost when he pressed the back of his head against the cool tile. Dean took the chance to suck some hickeys into the sensitive skin of his neck, so he wore them to class (framed nicely by the navy sweater Dean saw spread out on the armchair back in the bedroom) and every time he'd see them he'd be reminded by what was waiting when he got back.

"And when you can't stand on your knees anymore, I'd roll us over and take my time with you, nice and slow, so you can feel the burn for _days_ afterwards," Dean crooned, reducing the speed of his thrusts to emphasize his point.

"Yes," Cas moaned, "_Ngh_- want you- all the time, Dean."

Dean caught his mouth in an open kiss, brushing their lips together soundly. "C'mon, baby," he encouraged with a smile. "Come, right now, Cas."

He did, just from Dean telling him to, and damn it if that wasn't the hottest thing ever. Cas' brow furrowed and his eyes squeezed shut, lips failing to form words as he breathed Dean's name over and over again. He came right between their stomachs, spurts of warmth spilling down into the soapsuds on the ground.

The way his entire body clenched around him was enough to drive Dean over the edge. His vision whitened then blurred successively, praises coupled with Cas' name slurred around his tongue as he climaxed deep inside him. They rode through their orgasms together, limbs tangled and lips locked.

Finally, Cas slumped against the other, face buried into his neck, arms limply draped across broad shoulders. Dean brought them down, pulling out to sit on the cold floor with his legs stretched out in front of him, while Cas' settled on either side of the blond's thighs.

A wobbly, muffled, "Oh, _God_, Dean..." groaned from the crook of the Winchester's neck.

Dean chuckled, stroking Castiel's nape. "Think you can stand?"

Cas gave a small hiss. "No. definitely not."

"Well, a promise is a promise."

Two minutes, Dean couldn't help thinking, just two minutes. Afterward, they'd clean up and go their separate ways for the day, only to inevitably meet back at one of their apartments again. And then, Dean knew Cas would make sure he kept all those other lovely promises in the evening...

* * *

**A/N: **so, this is what happens when you're sick with a for days and read a lot of fanfiction. Hope it's okay, noggin's not functioning properly, so let me know how this went.


	4. Great Expectations

_summary_: "Take nothing on its looks; take everything on evidence. There's no better rule."

Dean's the best detective in the entire state of Kansas and no, he's not just saying that because he's drunk.

* * *

By the time paperwork was finished and all evidence was shelved, it was already half past one. Normally, Dean would just fuck everything, head home and hit the sack, but the case had been a particularly exhausting one – mentally and physically – so when Benny announced they were going to _The Roadhouse_ for a round of shots, he didn't even argue. One round turned into two, and two turned into three, and pretty soon Ellen was heaving him out of his chair.

Benny (completely unaffected by the alcohol, the bastard) slung his arm around Dean's shoulder and steered him outside where his car was parked. Then it was a matter of convincing Dean that no, he is _not_ in the right state to drive, stop trying to unlock the Impala, that's not even the right key, brother. After Ellen was forced to swear – twice – that nothing would happen to Dean's baby if she stayed one night outside _The Roadhouse, _Dean was lowered into Benny car and whisked off home. Well, one of his homes.

Cas' place was much closer at the moment, much closer than Dean's apartment, which was at the other end of town. Not that Dean was above looking for excuses to stay there overnight. Benny helped him out with punching in the right passcode on the front door, huddled him into an elevator and, once he made sure Dean pressed the right button, shipped him off to the fourth floor. Dean located the right apartment easily enough (Cas was the only one who _still_ had his Christmas wreath up from like, two years ago), but fitting the key into the door was a challenge in itself. It took five attempts into the keyhole and two accidental, stray ones into the door knob for Dean to try out flipping the key (this, ultimately, proved to be the tie-breaker of the consistent, blunt stabbing).

None of the lights were on, so Dean was resolved to stumbling around the apartment blindly. The first thing his shin met was the sharp edge of the sofa. The second was a chair, which actually made him lose balance for a moment. Groping around the back of it, he felt a soft material slip between his fingers, silky and slippery in his tipsy state. It took only a second to recognise the item as Cas' tie, and another three for Dean to try to understand what it was doing in the living room. But as his brain was merrily bouncing around his head and just generally being unhelpful, the question remained unanswered. Struggling to get his feet to work properly underneath him, Dean staggered onwards, only to see the proverbial plot thicken.

A dress shirt a foot from the coffee table, a pair of trousers _on_ the coffee table, an undershirt a little further down the hall. Dean followed the series intensely, hell-bent on finding the meaning behind the discarded clothing because he was a _detective_, he pieced together evidence for a living and was damn good at it.

He could totally nail this investigation.

It wasn't until he found one sock on the carpet and its partner some small distance away that he took a good look at the clues as a whole. Trail, it was a _trail. _Starting from the front door and ending at the closed bedroom door. The bedroom Cas was in. Undressed, as the evidence suggested, and it was reasonable to assume he was completely naked. The realisation gradually sunk into Dean's whiskey-addled mind, but when it did, it hit him like a ton of bricks.

Suddenly, sleeping was the last thing on his mind.

He lurched with all the speed he could muster at the moment, fought with the door knob for only a second and tripped into the bedroom with little consideration for the neighbours. Eagerly, his eyes took in what surroundings they could in the dark.

Good news: Cas was on the bed. Bad news: he was wearing boxers.

_Really_ bad news: he was asleep. Dean didn't even attempt to silence his wounded whimper.

Evidently, the noise of the door and Dean's stumbling was enough to stir Cas from sleep. Blankets shuffled, cotton scratching against skin, the silhouette of his slender fingers ran through his hair and over his face.

"Dean?" God, his voice was so gravelly. Dean really liked that, and unsurprisingly, so did his dick. "Dean, what- Is everything all right?" Cas asked. One of his arms reached out towards the blond as he crawled over to the edge of the bed.

"You're not naked." Dean couldn't help but make his disappointment known.

It took Castiel a moment to make sense of the other's slur. His eyes blinked owlishly, then a sleepy smile bloomed on his lips. "No, I'm not. I apologise for the inconvenience."

"S'not an inconve- in- incon-" Dean stuttered, tongue sloppily tripping over the word. He sighed heavily as he settled on the bed beside Cas. "Well, _that_. I'm not mad or anything, promise."

"I'm glad to hear it," Castiel replied gently, already working Dean's shirt over his head. "Are you all right, though? I was worried," he inquired. Dean flopped onto his back, stretched out over Cas' legs.

"Nah, s'fine. He drove here because it's closer."

Whether Cas understood any of that, Dean wasn't sure, but the other simply nodded while he undid the blond's belt. Dean smiled impishly. "Can we have sex now?"

"Aren't you a little tired?" Cas hummed, then added softly, "Lift your hips."

Dean did as he was told, shivering when Cas' fingers rubbed against his thighs as he pulled the jeans down. "Mm, never too tired to make you scream, baby," he crooned and rubbed an appreciative hand up and down Cas' back.

"How considerate of you," Cas said wryly. "But you need sleep, Dean. It'll make your hangover somewhat easier to handle in the morning," he grunted, dragging the Winchester back up to the pillows. Dean felt the covers drag over his legs soon after. "How about we have sex in the morning, when you're well-rested? You'll have more energy to make me scream louder."

Dean thought about the newly-received information. "Louder?" he clarified.

Castiel nodded solemnly, throwing his arms and legs over the other. "But only if you sleep now," he murmured into his temple.

"Okay," Dean said. "But I'm holdin' you to that."

In the pitch black dark, Dean could only feel soft brush of lips against his own mouth.

"Oh, I'm counting on it."

* * *

**A/N:** So this one I had in mind for a while, but could never find the time to write it :( But it's up now, and I'm happy with it. As with all the previous chapters, beta'ed by **stelesandwands** and Ema.


	5. Sharing is Caring

summary: It's while he's helping Cas pick out a new couch that he realizes it.

* * *

"I need a couch."

Dean looked up from his burger. Across him, nibbling slowly on a fry, Cas gave no indication that he was joking, nor that he was going to elaborate.

Swallowing, Dean prompted, "You need one right now?"

"No," Castiel answered like he was talking to a particularly slow two-year-old (which was totally unfair, given he was the one being all vague). "But I need a new one. Preferably sooner than later."

"What's wrong with the one you have at home?"

"_Had,"_ Cas corrected. "It's broken." To the amused, quirked eyebrow Dean shot him, he answered, "Gabriel."

And there went the other eyebrow. "Do I wanna know?" he asked.

"Probably not. It involved a mariachi band."

"Oh, now I _definitely_ wanna know."

But Cas shook his head. "It isn't important. I wanted to ask you if you'd come with me to find a new one."

"Sure," Dean said with a shrug and upon seeing Cas was out of fries, nudged forward his own portion. Cas took them gratefully. "You got any place in mind?"

"Yes, and I have Gabriel's credit card."

And seriously, this was why Dean loved him. "You know, everyone always thinks you're the innocent one, but really..." he teased.

Cas rolled his eyes, though there wasn't any annoyance behind the gesture. "Will you come?" he asked.

"Yeah, just lemme finish and we can go."

And that was how they ended up at _Comfort_ _Zone_, a local furniture shop(and yeah, Dean actually gagged when they pulled up into the parking lot), surrounded by lumpy armchairs and bouncy sofas, ranging in colours of earthy tones to psychedelic monstrosities, and prices of _aw yeah_ to _are you serious __that's not even real leather what the actual fuck._

Dean was bored within fifteen minutes, but he bit his tongue because damn it if Cas didn't do favours for him all the time. Instead, he followed the other around, offering opinions on the neon orange sofa that he wouldn't have sex on, let alone sit on, or the fact that vinyl had nothing on real leather.

"It's eco-friendly, not to mention more humane," Cas responded to the latter.

Dean's mind immediately went to his car's upholstery. "You callin' my baby bad names?" he asked.

"Of course not."

The blond grinned playfully. "Well, we'll see about you gettin' a ride home."

Cas' attention was demanded by the employee that had been following them around since they got there, and soon enough, the discussion was back on advantages of vinyl. Dean didn't bother to listen in, opting to think about his previous statement.

What would they be doing later on? He remembered Cas had said something about needing to stop by his office for some papers to take home. Dean himself didn't have a case at the moment and was free if only for the weekend, just had to prep for the court session he had on Monday. Should he swing by Cas' in the evening later to make dinner? They'd spent the past three days at the Novak's place, and Dean didn't really have the heart to go back to his own apartment. Not when Cas wouldn't be there.

The notion was more than a little startling. Was he _seriously_ avoiding his apartment just because Cas was at his own?

Dean snuck a peek at Cas, took in his piercing eyes, the honest look of interest he wore as he listened to an undoubtedly boring lecture on the ridiculously-priced, faux-leather love seat.

Yes. The answer was _definitely_ yes.

_Christ, there isn't any going back then, is there? _a small voice in the back of his head wondered. And surprisingly, that thought didn't bother him all that much.

And because of the rush of adrenaline the new-found information brought on, the next time Cas turned to ask about the a-little-less-orange-but-still-damn-_ugly_ couch he'd seen, Dean announced, "You know, you could just use my couch."

Cas stopped mid-sentence and tilted his head, brow furrowed slightly. Dean was glad to see the employee took this as his leave. "I don't understand. Won't you need yours?" he asked in response.

"Well, yeah. But we could use it... together."

He was rewarded with a bemused smile. Cas' eyes narrowed. "You're asking me something without saying it outright," he accused, and Dean's heart jumped to his mouth. _Oh God what if this is a bad idea. _"Although I can usually guess what it is, I'm having some trouble at the mo-"

"D'you wanna move in together?" Dean blurted out as quickly as he could, before he could throw up on one of the sofas or something.

Cas dropped his smile and he stayed like that for a good few seconds. Dean's mind went reeling. _Oh God oh God oh God take it back take it back now it's too soon why do you always put your God damn foot in your mouth-_

It took him a moment to realise his shoulder was being shaken. "Dean, stop." Cas' voice was gentle, but firm and it somewhat lessened the nausea in his gut. "Calm down, I haven't said no," he said.

"Haven't exactly said yes either," Dean managed, mentally patting himself on the back for not spewing his lunch up. "Look, if it's too fast, I get it, all right? It's fine really, if you don't want-"

"I didn't say I don't want to, Dean. I haven't said anything yet, but if you'd let me, I'd like to give you an answer." When Dean's mouth forcefully clamped shut, he continued, with a small smile that eased the blond's nerves a little, "I apologise for reacting the way I did, you simply caught me off-guard. We came in here with the intention of getting me a new couch, not a new home." Dean moved to speak again, but Cas shushed him softly. "Nevertheless... Yes. I'd love to live with you," he murmured and he actually fucking _blushed_ as he said it. It made Dean ridiculously happy.

He brought their foreheads together and who the fuck cared if they were in the middle of a furniture store anyway. "Seriously-? I mean, yeah. Okay, sure. Good." Jesus, he couldn't believe the speed his heart was thundering at momentarily. It felt like his rib cage was gonna burst, why was it that Cas always did that to him?

"Just one question," Cas said.

"Shoot."

A shy, baffled smile crept onto Cas' lips. "Why would you live with me, of all people?"

"What do you mean, _why?_ 'Cause I love you, dumb ass. Don't wanna be coming home to an empty apartment if I can be coming home to you," Dean retorted defensively. "You're my best friend, man. No one I'd rather live with."

"I suppose that's a reasonable answer." Cas' eyes briefly flashed over Dean's shoulder. "I suppose that's a no to the orange couch, then?"

"_Fuck_ no. No way I'm letting you buy somethin' like that."

"Still..." There was that mischievous glint again. "A new couch would have to be christened."

Dean smirked. "What do you have in mind?"

Cas got in real close, whispered against the shell of his ear, carding slender fingers through the hair on Dean's nape, "Something along the lines of copious amounts of indecent sex."

"Well-" Dean licked his lips, all sorts of images already running through his head. "Better get lookin', then."

* * *

**A/N: **And that's the last one for now! I had my French oral exam today, and the rest start next Wednesday. So I don't think there'll be any time to write any more, which is fine. This is a good place to stop.

Hope you guys enjoyed these :) There won't be anything new coming out this month, but Em and I are working on something that should be posted around next month. Maybe? Possibly? We'll see.


End file.
